A Lullaby of Banora
by redcherryamber
Summary: Genesis returns to Banora, having discovered the truth about his past. 1,615 words, one-shot, complete.


A Lullaby of Banora

Genesis stands at the top of the slope that leads down into Banora. The little village looks as it has always done: the forge, the inn, Angeal's cottage, the well - all as he knew them as a boy. In the warm sunshine the village sleeps. As always, in Banora, the air is scented with apples; pink and white blossom frilling some of the arching branches while the heavy, purple fruit hangs heavy and ripe on others. It makes for an idyllic scene, Genesis thinks. He tightens his grip on the scarlet-bladed rapier he holds in his right hand. Such a shame that the whole place is an illusion – another Shin-Ra lie – as his own life has turned out to be. Let Banora remain asleep for one more drowsy autumn afternoon, and then…Turning away from the peaceful view, Genesis walks back towards the large house on the hill where he spent his childhood. Nothing has changed here, either. He can almost see his younger self emerging from the doorway, running up the path with Angeal; the pair of them disappearing into the orchards to climb the trees and dream about the heroes they will be when they're older.

What dreams remain when you've become the nightmare?

Beneath his skin he can feel the restless flow of magical energy, black feathers shifting, threatening to materialize. He is a lost boy returning home. He is an angel of death. Sighing, he runs one red-gloved hand along the blade of his sword. For an instant the steel dances with strange rune-patterns, and then ignites. Genesis starts to run. He knows his father is in the orchard behind the house; he watched him from the hilltop earlier. The old man doesn't even have time to turn around. The last image he sees is blue sky, sunlight, apple blossom. Genesis sheaths his sword, purified by fire, and kneels by the body. The former mayor of Banora looks peaceful in death; he had no time to feel fear or surprise. Genesis studies his face, but he is as much a stranger as he has always been. Genesis has never had anything to say to his father – in life, or in death.

His mother is a different matter.

Pushing open the door, Genesis finds that the house still smells the same; beeswax polish, the fragrance of lavender drifting in from the bushes beneath the open windows, wood smoke, apples. His boots are loud on the bare wood floors – a measured pace – not like his father's shuffling steps. His mother is sitting upright in her high-backed chair facing the door of the living room. Her still-black hair is elegantly styled. Around her neck she wears the antique coral and ivory locket he gave her before he left to join SOLDIER. She looks at him out of cool grey eyes, which betray no sign of fear. When she speaks there is no tremor in her voice. "There were Shin-Ra operatives here, looking for you."

"We have them."

"Is your father dead?"

"Yes."

She makes no sound, but a tear escapes her. More than she will ever shed for _him_. Genesis meets her gaze. "He wasn't my father."

"No. How much have you found out?"

"More than enough to condemn you all as willing pawns of Shin-Ra!"

She looks up at him, mercilessly. "Willing? We had our orders. You think I wanted you in my house - a failed Shin-Ra experiment? They said you were damaged, and probably wouldn't live long." Genesis' smile is a broken, bitter thing. "They were right. I'm dying. Degrading. The genetic material is breaking down."

"Not fast enough for us. Or Banora."

Genesis laughs softly. "No, not that fast." His mother makes no move. She is as she always was; steel and ice. Genesis wanders to the window. On the sill are porcelain ornaments he remembers, and photographs of his father in his mayoral robes; his mother, about to go to a ball, serene in evening dress. None of him. "So, why did you come to my graduation at SOLDIER?" he asks. "You never came to anything at school, you gave parties for my birthday but never came to them yourself, you never came to the hospital when I had all those tests...So why that?"

"They said you would never achieve anything. I suppose we were proud."

"You were proud?" Something like hope flares in his eyes, but his mother only smiles and says, "Yes. They'd given you up as a hopeless case, but we managed to get you that far. It was in the newspapers. Everyone in the know at Shin-Ra said what a good job we'd done."

"Ahh."

"Genesis. Whatever you condemn me for, don't accuse me of being a bad mother. I never wanted this sickly little red-haired cuckoo in my nest. It was enough to take you in - everyone saying how it would help me get over not being able to have children of my own. But I already had a good life. I never wanted children! I gave you shelter, food, education. It was too much to ask for love as well. I thought you got that from Angeal and Gillian. The goddess knows, Gillian had more cause to care for you than I did." Genesis looks out of the window. The bright sunlight makes his eyes water, and he blinks away sudden tears. At last he says, "I have one memory – when I was very young. After one of the hospital visits, when I came home, you sang to me when I couldn't sleep. I remember – a lullaby? His mother frowns, trying to remember. "Oh, no. You had nightmares, I recall. No-one could get a wink of sleep. That old gramophone in the library – I had the maid sit with it outside your room, and play the same record over and over. It drove us half mad – but it settled you. It wasn't a lullaby – it was some sentimental song that was popular in my mother's young days: _All alone and loveless, I wander far from home_…something about starlight…I can't remember." She shakes her head, annoyed at herself.

"_Loveless_?"

"Yes. Oh – that's right – that poem you were obsessed with. You probably remembered the word from that song."

"So when I found the book in the library, the title jumped out at me. It was already in my subconscious."

"I expect that's it." His mother smiles faintly, as if they are a perfectly normal mother and son reminiscing about the happy past. The clock on the mantelpiece ticks away the seconds. Beneath the open window bees buzz in the lavender. Silence falls between Genesis and the woman he had grown up believing to be his mother. At last, she stirs, her long fingers playing with the locket at her throat. "You were a good boy, Genesis. I must admit I am a little nervous. Would you – in the fridge, there's some Banora White juice. You did a good job with the factory, you know. Your father and I _were _proud of that."

Genesis finds himself going to the kitchen. The glasses are in the usual cupboard, placed in neat rows. He takes one down, reaches for a cloth without having to look for it, and wipes the glass automatically. The kitchen fills with the sweet scent of apples as he takes the carton of juice from the fridge and pours the pale gold liquid into the glass, knowing that he will never be able to drink it again. He returns to the living room, and hands the glass to his mother, without a word. She says, "Thank you, Genesis," raises the glass to her lips with a steady hand, and swallows. Then she smiles. "The Shin-Ra operatives told me you might come here," she says. "They gave me –" her breath catches oddly. "Yes," she whispers. "They said it would be qui-" Genesis steps forward swiftly, but she is already dead. The locket in which she had concealed the Shin-Ra suicide pill hangs open on its gold chain. He kneels beside her chair for a moment, but does not touch her. She never wanted him to kiss or embrace her, even when he was very young, and he soon learned not to try.

Genesis wanders through the rooms of the old house, climbs the stairs and enters the library. He finds the gramophone and a small collection of records in the cabinet below it. There is only one recording it can be – a song entitled _Lonely Moon_. Genesis winds up the gramophone and lifts the needle gently onto the spinning disk. The song floats into the still air, the lyrics trite enough, but the tune haunting and familiar. _All alone and loveless, I wander far from home… _From the library windows he can see down into the village. He reaches into his pocket for his phone, and flips it open. "Yes," he says, calmly, "I've finished here. You can start the operation in Banora now." Soon the gramophone music mixes with the distant rumble of heavy assault vehicles, and, from farther off, the insistent staccato of helicopter blades. Walking back down the stairs and out of the front door, Genesis draws his red sword and runs his hand along it slowly. Again the runes blaze along the blade, and set it burning. Without glancing back, Genesis strides down the hill to join his men.


End file.
